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fear's slithered its way
into my brain, and
in a whisper it says that
the minute hand
and the hour hand
are gaining speed in their
reunion,
that time's almost up,
that sunset is nearing.
how i wish it were dawn again,
when everything was simple
and untouched by impurities
such as hate
YOU ARE READING
past oblivion.
Poetry"what can i really say?" used to be my words, when i didn't know as much. when i got older, i responded to myself. "everything." now, i realize that i can use my breath to speak on everything in existence, from dust on jupiter to the depths of hell...
